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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288977">What Horizons One Sees</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbiewickham/pseuds/bobbiewickham'>bobbiewickham</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Barricade Day Ficlets [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - Victor Hugo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:55:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>462</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbiewickham/pseuds/bobbiewickham</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Navet rescues Gavroche's brothers, and fights on the barricades of June 1848. Written for Barricade Day 2017.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Barricade Day Ficlets [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What Horizons One Sees</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eglantine/gifts">Eglantine</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The view from atop the barricade Saint-Antoine made Navet’s head spin.  It was three stories high: fine if you were climbing it indoors with stairs, scary if you clambered up with nothing between you and the cobblestones below except your own grip on the barricade.  He clung to the arm of a chair that jutted out at a comfortable angle.  The June night was warm, wrapping around him like a soft fur cloak a rich lady would wear.</p><p>“Scared?”  That was Thomas, the cheeky brat.  Navet reached out to smack him, but Thomas ducked, and like a mountain goat, scrabbled out of reach.  </p><p>“I’ve been on barricades since before you were born,” Navet grumbled.  This was an exaggeration, but not much of one.  Navet’s first barricade was in 1830, when he was a child of eight.  Then 1832.  He’d found Thomas right after that one, standing outside Gavroche’s elephant with his little brother, looking wistfully up.  Navet had taken them under his wing, figuring it was his place since Gavroche was dead.  </p><p>And here they were now.  This latest betrayal hurt the worst, somehow. They had a republic.  They’d thrown out the king, and now?  The bourgeoisie was shooing them out of Paris, like fastidious housewives sweeping out the cockroaches, and for what crime?  Being poor?  Where were the men of the people now?  </p><p>“Scowling won’t chase the national guard away.  Cournet wants us all to scrounge for ammunition again.”</p><p>Navet glanced down. “My shirt still has some buttons.”  He remembered a mad rush away from a barricade sixteen years ago, a race up several flights of stairs, a jump onto a roof and then a scramble along the rooftops until he vanished into the safety of shadows, just one more gamin lost in the night.  Would he do that again?  Or would there be no rush at all, just a sharp jab and then blackness, or a slow bleeding out on the ground as soldiers trampled him?</p><p>Maybe there would be victory, but—martial law had been declared.  Cavaignac had all the powers of a dictator. Victor Hugo himself had stood there below and announced it, damn him.  </p><p>Navet glanced over at Thomas. “Are you sure your brother’s safely off in Marseilles?”  </p><p>Thomas nodded. “He’s well out of it.  I got his letter just before the fighting started.”</p><p>“Well.  Good.  If we get away from here, we’ll join him.”  Starting over in a new city, leaving Paris behind—no, being <i>chased</i> from Paris–that thought hurt.  But better that than execution, prison, conscription, or deportation.  They’d find comrades in Marseilles, like here.</p><p>Navet leaned out as far as he dared, breathing deeply.  “Careful,” said Thomas.</p><p>“Scared?”  Navet grinned.  “Don’t worry.  I’m holding on tight.  But I want to enjoy the view.”</p>
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